The Lion of Braavos
by Fawksie Puppet
Summary: The Lion of Braavos stands at his side, all rippling muscle and auburn fur and eyes that burn like acid in the dying light - she's every inch the wild animal he feared her to be that first day in Winterfell. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Hey all, long time no see!

The following story was started as a warm-up to get me back into the swing of writing, but as I continued, it took on a life of its own and transformed into the monster that awaits you.

Each 'chapter' will vary in length, some being fairly short, others being quite a bit longer; this is because, rather than chapters, these are written as encounters (memories). The relationship continues even when you aren't reading every little detail of every daily interaction.

For those of you who followed me for my World of Warcraft fiction, don't worry. I haven't left that fandom behind! I'm just intensely interested in the world of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire right now.

I'm not sure exactly what the update schedule will be for this story yet, but today I'll give you the prologue and first chapter. The story is already completed, so don't worry that you'll get invested and then be left hanging.

~FawksiePuppet

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><p><em>The red eyes peering at him through the gloom are more than eerie… Despite the inherent danger, they take him out of himself and back through the last several months, and the memories bring tears to his eyes for the first time. He expected to make it through this ordeal without crying.<em>

_She told him to be strong, after all._

_But the albino cat standing just on the edge of the trees reminds him so strongly of the Braavosi that, for a moment, all he wants to do is kneel and beckon the creature closer. His lips part, the frozen air drying his tongue so quickly that he has to swallow and rewet the muscle before he can speak, but it's for the best; the cat is a predator, not his friend, and when he finally does move his lips again, it's to whistle for Ghost. The feline vanishes, running from the scent of the Direwolf, and Jon blinks rapidly before looking around at all the white trees with their blood-colored leaves._

"_Her eyes weren't red, anyway… They were green."_


	2. Chapter 1

The day she arrives in Winterfell, Jon Snow thinks she's a stupid, spoiled princess from across the Narrow Sea.

She's seated atop a horse with her long, chestnut hair tied in a tail and she's chatting jovially with Theon Greyjoy, whose expression is a mix of relief and amusement. It's clear there is already a kinship established between the two, though who knows exactly that entails. Behind them, the rest of the group files in through the castle gates, including a wagon being driven by a tall man, older than his father, and an weathered old woman who reminds him of Old Nan.

But it doesn't matter, because he's a bastard and he's not required to show interest in this little Braavosi tart. His father and Lady Stark are in the yard to greet her and welcome her to Winterfell, but there isn't a huge pomp and circumstance around her arrival, so Jon just goes about his training with Robb, who pauses to look over at the new arrival. Aside from a slight grin, his brother barely acknowledges that a new female has entered their midst.

When he sends Robb's sword from his hands and his brother to the dirt in their spar, Jon looks up again and over at the small gathering where the group entered. The girl, all dressed in a fine riding dress, is chatting amiably with Sansa while squatting down to offer her ungloved fingers across to his sister's wolf pup. The horses have been taken away, and the household staff is helping to unload the few trunks from the cart. Theon appears at the short fence then, pulling off his gloves and greeting them with his usual grin.

"Greyjoy," Robb says, and claps his friend on the shoulder. Theon arches a brow, pretending at smug superiority before he finally allows himself to return in kind to his one true friend in Winterfell.

"Stark… Snow." The Snow is an afterthought; a courtesy to keep Robb from reminding him of his manners. There is no love between Jon and Theon, only bitter exchanges and the squashed hopes of a child long grown.

"And how do you find the Lady Vaquar?" he hears his brother ask, but his eyes remain on where said 'Lady' is being shown around by his half-sister. She seems politely interested as Sansa leads her by their linked arms, showing everything there is to see in the yard. His eyes return to the conversation just in time to see a smirk vanish off the Kraken's lips.

Jon doesn't want to know what that look is about, but he's saved the answer as the girl in question appears at the railing as well.

"This is my brother, and heir to Winterfell, Robb," Sansa is gesturing to Robb, and as she does, Jon gets his first real look at the girl from Braavos. She's shorter than his sister, but Sansa is very tall for her age, but this girl is clearly older. Under her dress, she has developing curves in all the places a girl should, but there is something hard and lean about her that he can't quite pin down.

Her skin is darker than the usual pale tones here in the North, he notes, as she extends her hand to Robb, who takes it in his pale one and brushes a polite kiss over her knuckles. A wry twist of amusement pulls on her lips and she gives the smallest of laughs, which seems to disarm his brother.

"Ivonia Vaquar, but you may be calling me Iv, yes?" she replies, and they're all suddenly reminded that she isn't from Westeros.

"Lady Eve," Robb tests out, to which the girl shakes her head. "No," she says, and for a moment, her voice is stern. "I am just being Iv," the girl corrects, and for a moment, her eyes meet Theon's, and both smile like they're enjoying a private joke. Sansa turns, then, and she looks at Jon.

"And this is my half-brother, Jon Snow."

When the girl turns to face him, he realizes what it is that has him feeling on-edge around this girl. Her eyes are a very peculiar shade of green that he hasn't seen before; there is something distinctly feline about them. Distinctly predatory, and he freezes up for a moment. He doesn't want anything to do with this girl, but he can't be rude, so he reaches out and takes her hand, gripping just the tips of her fingers and just hardly brushing his lips over her knuckles as well before he lets go of her much too swiftly and masters the impulse to back away.

"I am sure you are hearing, but you may be calling me Iv," she says to him, the image of courtesy, though he sees something else flash in those disturbing eyes for a moment. "You are practicing at swords?"

There is almost something wistful in her words as she asks, and Robb quickly takes over the task of speaking. Sansa waits only long enough for her elder, _legitimate_ brother to give the most basic of explanations before she drags her new friend away to see other things. Lady trails behind them, and Jon can't help but wonder if his sister has received a dangerous new toy.

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><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be Monday, January 16th. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday! I hope you've all enjoyed the first few pieces of the tale!_


	3. Chapter 2

The sounds of steel on steel, and the grunts of hard work, greet his ears as Jon Snow makes his way to the yard with his brother and Theon. No one is ever in the yard this early, and the boys exchange looks as they round the corner. A tunic, dark blue and made of some sort of shimmery, billowing material, hangs from one of the rail posts as two bodies dart fore-and-aft across the hard, cold dirt.

A string of what can only be curses sounds in a high, foreign voice and the pair crossing blades stops moving. Jon realizes all at once who is in the yard. She's sucking on a bleeding gash across the back of her left hand while her right grips the ornate handle of a thin sword. The blade vanishes into its leather scabbard and she holds out her hand, in which she catches a roll of linen bandages.

The man he saw driving the cart a few days ago clears his throat and Iv lifts her head from her task of wrapping her injury. A bead of sweat rolls down her cheek, but she doesn't seem to notice as her lips curl into a smile that greets the three young men. With a start, they all realize it's _her_ shirt on the railing; her chest is bound tightly around with a wide swatch of cloth, wrapped several times and closed upon itself.

"Morning greetings," she calls, using her teeth to tear the cloth and then help her tie it off. The rest is tossed back across. "This man is Kaath. He is being my instructor, I believe you call it." 'Kaath' gave a silent nod in the general direction of the three before speaking again in deep, intimidating Braavosi.

"We are just finishing our morning, um…"

"Practice," Robb supplies when it becomes apparent the girl is struggling to find the word. Theon snickers slightly and Robb frowns, but Jon just stares.

"Yes, practice, just so. You will be having your practice area back soon, yes?"

And there is nothing to do but wait, so Robb and Theon lean against the railing. Soon enough, they're joined by Ser Rodrik Cassel, who watches with professional interest, remarking on how the boys could stand to learn a thing or two from Lord Eddard Stark's new ward.

Everything about this girl reminds Jon of a cat… Not the ones who chase mice, or the ones they occasionally find ripped apart by the dogs. No, she reminds him of the shadowcats he's heard so many stories of. He's seen them dead before, brought into Winterfell by smallfolk looking to claim a bounty on sheep-killers. There are a few pelts on Winterfell beds that belong to the massive felines.

But if ever one of those cats should somehow become human, it would be this girl. Every move she makes with her small, glittering sword is calculated and careful, but at the same time, vicious and when she lets out a scream of frustration, losing her cool for just a moment, he nearly jumps. She intimidates him, but he'll never admit it.

Her temper seems to be a spot of contention and the man berates her in their private, lilting language. She snaps something back at him before stuffing her sword roughly back at her hip and marching herself around the railing. Blood has soaked through the bandage on her hand, but she doesn't seem to notice as she snatches her shirt up and stalks away.

Theon's watching her hips as she goes, Robb is watching Theon with disapproval… but Jon is watching the tail of her hair swing and wondering if shadowcats even come in that color.

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><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be Wednesday, January 18th. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_

_The story is mostly based out of the books, but there are certain elements from the show and RPG guide book as well. All in all, I've tried to keep it as close to canon as possible while still fitting Iv into the events._


	4. Chapter 3

The King is coming to Winterfell.

Apparently, his father has known for some time, but he's only decided to tell his children just now as they all tuck into breakfast. At once, Robb and Sansa seem to be too busy with their own concerns to eat. Theon's jaw tightens for a moment, his eyes flinty, as he focuses even harder on the food before him.

But down the table, Iv is entirely unconcerned as she regales Arya, Bran and Rickon with some tale of her time in Braavos. He knows she's heard the news, because there is a certain sort of annoyance on her face that he's learned to read since she's been here. He sees it most often when Sansa comes to fetch the girl for 'womanly' lessons. It's become quite clear that this girl is no spoiled princess from across the Narrow Sea like he'd originally suspected.

Much and more of her time is spent at practice with swords or climbing the walls of Winterfell with Bran. She's even been seen racing around the halls with Arya, playing some sort of intense game that causes both girls to shriek with laughter and race away when they're spotted by any one of the other Stark children. Occasionally, Jon sees her ride out the gates beside Theon, both deep in conversation.

When Eddard Stark leaves the dining hall with his wife, leaving the children to their own devices, chatter breaks out at once in regards to the impending royal visit. Sansa _must_ finish her dress and Robb _must_ do this, Theon _must_, Arya _must, _Bran _must_… But Iv just laughs and helps Rickon up from where he's fallen down, trying to trail after his mother. She's wearing pants and a tunic and boots that fasten to the knee again.

When most of his siblings clear out of the room, Iv sits beside him, laughter still lingering on her lips and a friendly look on her face.

It's deceptive, he thinks, and he isn't sure if he should be ready to run or not.

"Why are you being called Snow, when all the others are being called Stark?"

The question catches him off-guard and he looks at her fully, wondering if she's having a go at him… But he can't see any trace of anything other than honest curiosity, and maybe a dash on confusion, in her felid eyes, so he heaves a sigh and speaks.

"My father is Lord Stark, but I don't know who my mother is. I'm a bastard, and since I'm a bastard of the North, my surname automatically becomes 'Snow'." He wants to explain further, but the words choke in his throat and he looks down at his plate with a sour expression.

A warm hand closes on his forearm for a moment and he tenses, but it's gone again just as quickly. "That seems a foolish reason to me," she says, and he looks up at her. For just a moment, their eyes meet and he feels something slide into place that wasn't there before. It's several hours later, when he's lying abed, stroking Ghost's fur, the he realizes what it is.

He respects her.

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><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be Friday, January 20th. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_

_Sorry for the next few chapters being shorties. You may start to notice some repetitive descriptions of certain things; this is done on purpose to tie everything together. These are memories, and we often link memories with common elements._


	5. Chapter 4

Everyone is lining up in the yard. Hair has been cut, children cleaned and dressed in their finest to greet the King. Son of Lord Stark he might be, but Catelyn always has her way when it comes to courtly manners, so Jon stands in the row behind the family with Theon Greyjoy and Jory Cassel.

He feels movement to his left and turns his head to see a girl squeezing in beside him. Her chestnut hair is piled intricately atop her head with pins and dark blue-and-black dress is like nothing he's ever seen a woman wear before. It cinches her waist tight and pushes her breasts up and, in the front, it only comes part-way down her thighs. In the back, it drags along the ground. Panic begins to flood his chest, his eyes on her green ones, lined with something that turns her waterlines black, until she speaks.

"I was worrying I was being late," she whispers to him, adjusting the fox-fur wrap around her shoulders, shifting her weight with the chill.

"Iv?" he asks like an idiot, and her look tells him exactly that.

"Who else are you thinking, Jon?"

But Arya runs across the yard, in a dress and full helmet, and Jon can't help but smile at his sister's antics. All the same, he sneaks a glance at Iv and can't help but think that she looks _wrong_ in such a lovely dress and her eyes lined. She looks every bit the spoiled princess he expected, and none of the shadowcat-made-human that he's come to enjoy talking with.

The first of the royal procession enters through the gates, then, and there is no more time to talk. First it is the Kingsguard, in their pristine white cloaks, and then men in cloaks of gold scales… But finally, on a horse that looks too small to support his great weight, the King himself rides in and everyone kneels; everyone except Iv, who makes a sound like an offended cat and Jon has to grab her hand and tug her down to his level before she makes a scene.

"Your King is fat."

The whisper sends them both into a fit of silent laughter, their shoulders shaking. When they're allowed to stand again, Jon looks over at her just enough to see her smiling, and for a brief moment, he does the same.

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><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Surprise! In honor of SOPA/PIPA protests, and because Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 are so short, I've decided to give you a 2-for-1 day! Next update will be Friday, January 20th. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_

_Thank you to everyone who has shown their support for this story so far! Every favorite and story alert received brings a smile to my face._


	6. Chapter 5

From his seat in the back of the hall, he can see her, seated with the rest of the children. She's sitting beside Sansa and her little friend, Jeyne Poole, but she's too far away for him to get an accurate read on her expression. Her face was a polite mask of easy conversation as she was led by earlier on Theon's arm, the two wards made to walk together during the procession.

Jon isn't jealous… he only wishes he could converse so easily with the foreign girl. He has enough courage now to say hello to her when he sees her, and when she asks him questions, he answers, but he's unable to push himself to actually start a conversation. But she seems to have many things to talk about with Theon Greyjoy, and it doesn't really surprise him at all. Theon's always been one to charm the ladies, if his talk in the yard is anything to go by.

He's had far more to drink than he should by the time his uncle approaches him where he sits. The conversation flows easily for a bit, but then it shifts and Jon finds himself upset and stumbling from the hall. Outside, Winterfell is cold and quiet and he's torn between enjoying the solitude and hating it completely. A burst of noise behind him signals that someone else is leaving the feast, and he turns.

She's outlined for a moment in the warm glow of the hall behind her. A few pins have been pulled from her hair and she looks slightly disheveled, with her cheeks flushed and an angry set to her mouth… Everything about him aches because she looks so beautiful and proper and it _offends_ him. In this moment, it looks like it offends her, too.

This isn't a girl to dress up and parade around, singing songs about love and yammering about princess and knights like Sansa. Iv belongs in the yard with a sword in her hand, her shirt hanging on the railing as she laughs and jabs the stupid, thin sword in the direction of her sparring partner.

Iv belongs in the forests, slinking along after something hot-blooded and fleet of foot... It almost startles him when her eyes _don't_ shine back at him through the dark in the way that Ghost's do as the pup pads around his legs to peer at the girl in the doorway.

"Ghost?"

She calls out, and he thinks he hears a tremble in her voice. The wolf merely looks at her until Jon nods, and then his white form closes the distance between them. He allows the girl to ruffle the fur on his head once before he retreats to Jon. Ghost might have the confidence to face down a bitch over a chicken, but faced with this girl, the wolf was as intimidated as the boy.

He means to call out to her, to speak first for once, but his words fail him and the moment is over. Her skirts rustle as he watches her wind her way into the twisting corridors of Winterfell and seconds later, he's distracted by the sound of a voice he doesn't recognize. Turning around, he finds himself somehow suckered into conversation with Tyrion the Imp.

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><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be Monday, January 23rd. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday! Another shorty, but the next chapter is the longest in the story._

_Thank you for all the favorites and story alerts! Reviews are love as well. See you soon~_


	7. Chapter 6

He expects, at this time of night, the pools will be empty. The water was harnessed many places in the castle, especially to keep Lady Stark's room warm… But he loved this place underneath the castle, where the pools had been allowed to bubble up and break the surface. It is a good place for a bath, but generally not occupied so late at night.

So when a voice calls out, he nearly drops the bundle of cloth in his arms, he's so startled. When he realizes whose voice it is, he feels the familiar grip of panic squeezing his chest… But it's too late.

He sees her, at the edge of the nearest pool, sitting and staring at him over her shoulder.

"Oh, it is only you," she says softly. He can't read her expression through the steam, but her voice doesn't sound particularly unfriendly.

"I'm sorry," he stammers, tense and ready to flee. "I can go…"

"There is not a need for that. I am the only one being in here; there is much room for you." He can hear the polite smile now, so despite being intimidated, he edges a little closer. "I would be welcoming the company." She's turned her attention back to the water by now.

The bastard boy urges himself to be courageous as he strips down, hidden by the steam, and moves to the far side of the pool. A towel is wrapped tightly around his waist until the moment he begins to lower himself into the water, when he removes the cloth and sets it to the side of the pool.

But for all his caution, she pushes off the side and moves toward him, coming to sit at his side in the hot water. The feelings of panic haven't left him yet.

"It is quite late. I had not been thinking to see anyone down here at such hour," she says, chatting as easily now as she does when they're both clothed in the yard. He wants to scream then, make her realize how awkward he feels with them both so naked, but he doesn't. Instead, when his mouth opens, he forces himself to talk like a functioning human being.

"I couldn't sleep," he intones simply.

"I am often having trouble doing the same," she replies to that, and he forgets to keep his eyes fixed on the water. Instead he looks over at her to find her nodding solemnly, but upon realizing she's still naked, his eyes snap to the front again. She must find his modesty amusing, because she lets out a tinkle of laughter.

"They are just flesh, Jon Snow. They aren't going to hurt you," she reassures, and he turns his head away from her, cheeks dark and his head shaking incredulously. The water is disturbed after that, and he watches the ripples to calm himself.

"There. Is this better for you?"

His head turns back, afraid to look, but she's turned around so her arms are resting on the side of the pool, her head resting on her arms as she looks over at him. Around her, her red hair floats in tendrils. A nod is given and he accepts the compromise, though his eyes remain resolutely on her face.

"Why are you being unable to sleep? Is it your brother?"

Bran…

Bran had fallen some days ago, while father and Robb and Theon were out hunting with the King. They'd found him, broken with his wolf pup howling, behind one of the towers… It was the one where the boy liked to go to feed the crows.

But that is only part of what keeps him awake at night. He spends a great deal of time lying awake, thinking about what his life will be like on the Wall when he goes north with Uncle Benjen. A bastard can make a name for himself there, he's heard, and his life has been filled with stories about those intrepid men of the Night's Watch; the glory of defending the realm from the White Walkers and other horrors that inhabited the frozen wastes.

"Partly," is all he can manage to say.

"I had a brother once," came her reply to him, and he snaps out of his own mind to focus on her. Her features have a melancholic caste now, and her eyes are staring out at nothing, so he feels a little safer looking at her.

"He was my twin; he was called Ivaerion and he was much more brave than I," she speaks, almost as if she is merely remembering aloud instead of telling him about the boy. But as she speaks of Braavos and the many adventures she'd gone on with her brother, it isn't hard for Jon to picture the boy with reddish hair and a strong laugh and more skill with a sword than any child had a right to have.

"But he died of fever, and we buried him at sea. I have nightmares where his hand is reaching up to pull me into the ocean with him."

A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth and Jon's eyes soften for his friend. He's completely forgotten to feel awkward about their nakedness by now; this was hardly different than when, in younger years, Arya would run and jump into the baths with him and Robb and Theon. As he lets her have a moment to compose herself, his eyes wander almost unconsciously over her back…

Where they stop. Thick, white scars stretch across her back in bands that crossed over one another. Some look newer than others, but they all look to have some years on them. It doesn't even occur to him to keep personal space as he moves to get a closer look, his hand splaying on her back to keep her still. Her muscles coil under his fingers, startled by the sudden touch.

"How did… where did you get these?" he asks, dumbfounded, and she relaxes upon realizing she isn't under sudden attack. When he flicks his eyes from the scars to her face, he finds himself caught up in her look of deep shame and embarrassment. His fingers leave her skin and he backs away from her a little, realizing only then how much of a line he's crossed. "I'm sorry…"

"No, it is not something you are needing to apologize for," she murmurs in answer, tucking a strand of hair nervously behind her ear. She turns around then, so he can no longer see her disfigurement, but she pulls her knees to her chest to continue hiding her nakedness.

"When my brother died, my father made many attempts to turn me into Ivaerion. He hit me with a stick when I was failing at it. 'Every hurt is a lesson' he would be saying, until I was getting it correct. It was taking much time, but I finally got to the point where he was not needing to hit me anymore."

He finds her explanation so appalling that he can't stop himself; he pulls her into a hug, crushing her chest against his as he holds the stiff, startled girl. She is so much smaller than he is, though they are of an age with one another, that it is easy to think of her as a younger sibling that he is protecting.

After a few moments, the girl finally allows herself to hug him back, her face hidden in his chest as she fights down the tears that threaten. He can feel her shaking to keep calm, but he says nothing. No matter how sorry he is for her, it will do no good to say so; sorry won't take away the scars that line her back or the damage in her heart… It is just so hard for Jon to process what has happened to her.

Bastard though he might be, his father loves him, shares his home and meals with him, makes sure he is taken care of, educated and clothed. Jon hasn't lost a sibling, and aside from Catelyn's occasional, scathing, remarks, Jon feels loved by his family… It is hard to envision a family where a father could beat his only remaining child, a daughter no less, for not being a son instead.

It is a long while before, finally, Iv pulls away from him. She looks up at him with a myriad of expressions in her eyes, but when her lips part, it is the polite and proper voice once again. "Thank you," is all he receives, but he can read the rest in those eyes that once frightened him, and he gives her a half-smile in reply. The expression falls to pensive as he watches her pull herself out of the hot water and shake her hair out, completely unconcerned with her nakedness, before making her way over to the pile of clothing she brought in with her. After pulling on a tunic that is far too large and piling all of her hair into her towel, she gives him one last, long look before vanishing into the cool corridor beyond.

Later, as he emerges into the halls as well, he recalls the way it had once felt when he and Robb had worked to catch some of the cats that made Winterfell their home.

_It was often that the wily creatures would yowl and push against their chests with their claws out, trying to get away. Every once in a while, though, one would be content to lie in their arms and have her fur stroked for a time before jumping from their arms, landing on her feet and moving away as if nothing had happened._

_Sometimes, they would find cats that had been mauled by the hounds and, often, they would have to twist the thing's head so she wouldn't suffer any longer. There was one, though, that he thought of now… a white thing who had always reminded him of a tiny lion. He and Robb had found her, her leg chewed to ribbons and her yowling something fierce in the loft of the stables. When the two boys had wrapped her in a horse blanket and pulled her from the loft, Theon had tried to take her and twist her head as well, but Sansa had screamed and father had found them all squabbling over the dying cat._

_In a fit of tears from all the children, Eddard Stark finally agreed to let the children rush the cat off to the Maester. Old, bald Luwin had clucked his tongue and refused at first, but finally he was badgered by the children and Jon had wrapped the cat tight in the blanket as the man cut away the dead leg, then cleaned her and stitched her shut. _

_He received many scratches for his effort, but when, weeks later, he'd seen the cat stalking around on her three legs, it had been worth it._

A smile comes to his face as he lies in his bed. For once, his mind turns, not to the Wall, but to that cat, imagining her with bright green eyes. When he expects to hear a meow, he hears a laugh instead.

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><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be Wednesday, January 25th. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_

_Decided to upload the chapter before bed since I'm still up, so I hope you all enjoy! Longest chapter in the story, and a little insight to what has made Iv into who she is._

_In case you didn't catch it in the first chapter, her name is pronounced 'Eve'. Figured I should put this somewhere. Again, thanks for all the faves and story alerts! Feel free to drop a review as well. I like hearing from my readers!_


	8. Chapter 7

When the morning dawns cold, but clear, Jon is waiting for Iv in the yard. He's seated on the railing as she walks up, and he offers her a smile, which is returned, almost shyly. She hasn't forgotten about their hug the night before, but she isn't awkward about it, so he's determined not to be awkward, either. Instead, he stands and gestures to his hip, as if it would answer the question she hadn't asked yet.

Her eyebrows arch and she blinks at him, an obviously blank look for his obviously unasked question. The boy clears his throat and tries to sound casual.

"Would you… mind showing me a few moves?" he asks with hardly a stammer, and she smiles and nods.

"Most assuredly," she replies, then moves away from him, stretching and loosening her muscles for the morning of sparring and practicing. "But only until Kaath comes, and then I must be practicing. I will be a Water Dancer, you see."

This confuses him, as Jon has always heard the Braavosi style called the 'Water Dance', so he's just assumed that Bravos call themselves Water Dancers. Obviously, this confusion shows on his face, for she gives a laugh and stretches her back, bending over backwards entirely. She balances her entire weight on her hands and flips over before standing straight again and looking at him.

"Only one in one hundred Bravos might ever be so skilled enough to become a Water Dancer, Jon Snow. And of those who attempt, even fewer are being skilled enough to actually master the skill. True Water Dancers duel in the Moon Pool in Braavos to prove they are having the skills, and it is the most beautiful thing to watch."

As she explains to him, he slowly comes to picture this place in his mind. The only Bravo he can picture, however, is Iv, so it is her he sees, striking with balance and precision at the faceless, shapeless opponent across the pool. In his mind, they walk _on_ the water.

The flat sting of a strike catches him off-guard and he looks up from his wrist to the girl who stands ready before him. The grin on her face is positively cat-like as she slaps him with the flat of her blade again, this time on his hip, just below his sword.

"Come now, Snow. Dance with me."

So he does. It's a very clumsy display when compared to her lightning motions and feather-light feet. He's all hacking and slashing while she dances away from him, staying just out of reach before plunging in, her entire body one line of movement as she nicks his armor with the tip of her sword.

At one point, he thinks he has the upper hand and he presses her sharply, edging her backward toward the railing where surely he'll have her cornered, but she jumps and all at once, she's balanced on the railing, and then she's over, letting his surprise be her ally as she leaps out of his reach and vaults back over. Suddenly, he's pinned at the railing.

She calls a pause then and he's grateful to catch his breath. While he might have the greater reach of arm, and the greater strength behind each swing, her motions are all about the conservation of effort. Her moves are short, precise and incredibly accurate. The chinks in his armor, all of them to the center of the chest, are a testament to this.

Her shirt is stripped off then, and hung on the railing. She's warm enough in just her wrap, breeches and boots, and Jon wishes he was brave enough to face her in the same. But he likes his armor just where it is, because when she spars, that fearsome, feline grace truly shows and once again, she intimidates him completely. He wants to believe that she won't do him harm during their friendly match, but he can't truly be sure she isn't a wild animal at heart.

When they come together again, she's slower and more deliberate with him, showing him how to better conserve his energy in his attacks. She directs his motions to the center, rather than the wide, sweeping attacks he's become comfortable with, and when he tries to slash, she proves her point with a sharp jab that cuts another notch in the leather protector. It takes another few tries, but finally she has to dodge away from his attack with far less grace and much more necessity than usual.

Jon smiles, and she grins right back.

"Well done." The voice is gruff and deep and he turns, startled that he didn't notice anyone join them. It's just Kaath, though, and Iv smiles at the man who's watching them with his arms folded over his chest. The bravo stretches and pops her back, her attention shifting back to Jon for just a moment.

"I am expecting to see you using what you have been learning, Jon," she says before assuming her 'ready' stance. Kaath enters the area, then, and as soon as the boy is out of their way, the two are darting and attacking quicker than his eyes can follow each movement.

He sheds the armor and looks at his sword, then heads off to find Mikken in his forge.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be _Friday, January 27th_. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_


	9. Chapter 8

The feast that night is a much less raucous affair than the night the King arrived, but he still has to sit in the back with the men. Iv has been dolled up in one of her dresses again, and she's sitting with Sansa and Jeyne Poole, just like before. This time, though, there is a musician that's braved the Kingsroad and a few people are dancing.

He's had more wine than he should again.

This time, Iv leaves the hall before he does. Once the doors are closed, and it isn't too obvious he's following her, he does, Ghost trailing at his heels. It doesn't surprise him at all to find her in the yard, still in her dress, stabbing relentlessly at one of the target dummies. He clears his throat when he's close enough and she spins, sword in hand, to face him.

Her eyes, rimmed in black again, are also tinted red with unshed tears, likely ones of anger. It makes his ears ring to see her upset and he offers his arm to her. She hesitates a moment before sliding her sword out of sight and resting her fingers in the crook of his arm, allowing him to lead her away from the dummy who's now poked full of holes.

"Your father can not be letting Sansa marry that boy… He's awful," she says quite suddenly, and Jon almost laughs. He remembers the day in the yard when Robb had nearly come to blows with the crown prince, and how the taunts of the royal brat had niggled at all of the Northerners; but no matter that she might carry a sword, Iv is a lady still, and the fact that she'd been disrespected makes him wonder if perhaps he should act the bastard he was and lay into the blond brat.

She seems to sense his upset, because she squeezes his arm to get his attention. "Do not be doing anything foolish, Jon. Go to the Wall willingly tomorrow, not because you are deserving to go. Not for my sake."

Silence falls between them again and when he looks up, he's surprised to find he's taken her back to her room. She looks at the door, then gently disentangles her arm from his, giving a small smile. "Thank you for your company," she offers hesitantly, looking up at him.

Maybe it's the wine he's had at the feast, or maybe it's the fact that he's leaving tomorrow and doesn't know how to thank her for the companionship she's given him… Maybe it's just because he's a teenage boy and it's what he's supposed to do; Jon doesn't know. All he knows is that, suddenly, he's kissing her in that awkward, not-thought-out way that young people often do.

She kisses him back hesitantly, and then they both pull back and look at one another. It seems to occur to both at the same time that neither wanted nor enjoyed the kiss. But rather than show embarrassment or shame, Iv's face cracks into an amused smile and she takes his hand, threading her fingers with his for just a moment, squeezing reassuringly to let him know that nothing has changed between them. When she lets go and disappears into her room, Jon looks down at his hand and smiles.

The squeeze means more to him than the kiss ever could.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be _Monday, January 30th_. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_

_We're at the half-way point now! Soon, the chapters will be a bit more spaced out in terms of story timeline and, eventually, there WILL be spoilers for ACOK, ASOS, and beyond. _


	10. Chapter 9

There isn't time for one last practice. Instead, Jon spends the morning running around Winterfell, tying off all the loose ends of his life in this castle. If he ever sees the place again, it will be for brief stretches of time, like his Uncle Benjen, but it will never again be home.

He goes to visit Bran, because it's the last chance he has to do so. He's avoided the room so far because Lady Catelyn hasn't left the boy's side since the fall… But now there is no more time to hope she goes, and there is nothing left she can say to chase him away.

All the same, he practically flees from her words when his goodbye is finished.

'_It should have been you.'_

He visits Mikken at the forge, picking up the gift that he'd asked the man to make days ago. The blade is as fine as he could have hoped, and he feels better at the sight of it… But everyone seems to be eager to burst his mood today, and he's waylaid again, this time by Jaime Lannister, brother to the Queen.

'_It's only for life.'_

By the time he reaches Arya's room, he's quite ready for the day to be done. Nymeria is helping the little girl pack, but as soon as there's an audience, the wolf sits on her haunches and watches the pair, causing Arya to groan in frustration. This, at least, brings a smile to Jon's face.

When he gifts her the sword called Needle, he hugs the girl tightly and wills himself to be strong. "I'm going to miss you, little sister." He's going to miss them all: Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon… Even Sansa, despite her always holding him at arms-length for the sake of proper manners. He'll miss Winterfell.

He'll miss Iv.

All at once, it occurs to him that he has no idea the fate of his father's foreign ward, and he wonders how he's let this happen. He moves down the hall to her room, knocking loudly, but when the door opens, it's the little old woman he's scarcely seen at all. He thinks her name is Baala.

"Where…?" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Out there, boy. You won't be finding her here on this day," she says with an expression that is almost a smirk, and the door closes with a snap. If she's in there, then Iv is staying in Winterfell… Jon isn't sure how he feels about this, but more important right now is to find her.

The party is nearly ready when he finally finds her. She's standing on the walls of Winterfell, looking down over the whole group with her arms folded over her chest. Her hair is still coiled in pins from the night before, but she's in the same black breeches, black boots and billowing blue tunic that she seems to favor.

He's never been a climber like Bran, but he has a head for heights. When he finally finds himself on the wall with her, she doesn't seem surprised to see him at all. Instead, she simply offers him a smile.

Her fingers find his as he stands beside her, and her shoulder presses to his. The pressure and warmth is reassuring to him in the same way that Robb's hug had been earlier. It is snowing freely now, each flake making a dark spot on her tunic as she stands stoically beside him, watching the party make ready. He squeezes her hand and watches the smile blossom on her face.

"Be safe, Jon Snow. You will be fine."

And he knows in that moment that she loves him, just as he loves her. It isn't like Sansa's stupid songs. He doesn't want to carry her off and marry her, he doesn't want to kiss her or do the things his father's men talk about after a few rounds of drink, and he knows she doesn't want those things, either. All they want for one another to be safe and happy, just as he wants for the siblings he shares blood with.

Because she's the first friend he feels he's ever truly made, this fierce little lion of Braavos.

He lifts a hand, brushing the snow off her hair as he gently pulls the other from her grasp, squeezing her fingertips one last time. She gives a sniffle against the cold, but Jon doesn't look back on the off-chance that it might be from tears.

As he mounts up, he sees the three-legged cat as she slinks around the side of the armory and he smiles to himself.

She's gone from the walls of Winterfell when he rides out with the column, but that's ok because the pressure of her fingers on his and the image of her standing strong against the grey sky that morning are all he needs to remember his Braavosi friend.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be _Wednesday, February 1st_. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_


	11. Chapter 10

There's a hammering on the door, and he looks up from his task at the same time the Lord Commander looks from the letter he's reading over. The two exchange a short look of confusion before Jon moves to open the door; it's Pyp and he looks like he's run the entire way to this door.

"Jon, there's…" he begins, panting and pausing to take a breath to steady himself. His friend starts over and lets out a long breath before speaking again.

"There's a girl in the courtyard asking for you."

He can feel the Lord Commander behind him, and the newly-sworn brother looks back at him. The old man's face is a mask, but he speaks all the same. "Let's find out what this is about, shall we?"

The three of them make their way, calm and collected, to the courtyard, though Jon truly wants to run. He's heard the news that his father's been imprisoned in the capital, and all he can think about is his sisters. When they reach the yard, he sees the red hair and instantly, his heart leaps. The girl isn't tall enough to be Sansa, but he's just as pleased to see her.

"Iv," he calls out, and the Bravo turns her head toward them. All the blues he's become accustom to seeing from the girl are gone, her wardrobe as black as his. A thick mantle of fur around her shoulders make her look bulkier than he knows she really is, but those green, predatory eyes are the same as they ever were.

He embraces her lean form and she returns in kind, and when he pulls back, he searches her face for some sort of sign, a reason why she would be here at the Wall… But exactly what the flinty look tells him isn't what he wants to see. When she pulls away from him and moves around him to address the Old Bear, Jon can't help but take in her words with dread.

"My name is Ivonia Vaquar of Braavos. And I came here to take the Black."

Silence settles over the yard for a long moment, and he knows it's because all the men are sizing up this little girl who suddenly appeared, all but demanding to see Jon Snow. Finally, he hears the rumble that Jeor Mormont lets out just before he speaks and Jon turns, watching the Lord Commander because he can't bring himself to look at Iv yet.

"My Lady, we don't usually take females at the Wall… It's a _brotherhood_…" Clearly, the old man is just as stunned as everyone else.

"I am not a lady," she replies smoothly, and it occurs to him that her common has improved quite a bit since he last saw the girl. She still has an accent, but her mastery of the language itself is impressive. Has he truly been away from home that long?

"That may be, but you're not… male."

"I shall cut my hair and bind my chest if you'd like," she offers, but Jon can't focus because a crowd is starting to form. He isn't the only one to realize it and the Old Bear clears his throat.

"This way. Jon, bring refreshments," he commands and marches off. Iv follows without hesitation and he wonders what has driven her from Winterfell.

When he returns to the Lord Commander's solar with the requested tray of refreshments, it doesn't fail to shock him to see his friend sitting across the desk from the man he serves as steward. She leans casually back in the chair, one ankle on the opposite knee and, beneath the cloak, she's left behind the silks of Braavos for warmer, winter clothing.

Winter is coming, he remembers suddenly.

"-so I am unable to turn to Braavos. But I won't allow myself to sit useless in Winterfell, either. I've already been told I won't be allowed to go if it comes to war. I'm a more than capable sword, and damn it if I'll be made to sit pointlessly aside."

Whatever he missed of the conversation seems to have warmed the old man considerably. He no longer looks like he's feeling wrong-footed and uncertain. Instead, he's surveying the girl with professional interest, and she's staring right back, a strong set to her jaw and her long hair pulled back in an austere tail.

"This is still a castle full of men, many of whom are quite a bit… bigger than you are. This isn't just a matter of principal, Lady Vaquar. Your safety is very likely at risk here," the man tries to explain, but she cuts across him.

"I'm not a lady. I'm simply Iv, please," she says, and her tone makes it clear that the 'please' is really a dare for the man to call her a lady again.

"Iv, then. No few of these men are here for the crime of rape. I can't help but feel that your presence might be an irresistible temptation for them… And I can't go demolishing my own forces. You must understand my dilemma here."

It's apparent he's trying to get the girl to back down of her own free will, but Jon knows Iv better than that. A muscle tenses in her jaw for a moment and the boy almost laughs. He can hear the retorts already.

"I can take care of myself around such men, and I am more than willing to prove it to you. I'm not asking you to take me in and _protect_ me. I'm asking you to treat me just the same as any of your other recruits. Give me a chance to prove myself here, and you won't regret it. I know you need the man-power, and I came here of my own volition."

For a long time, the man is silent and Jon chances a glance to Iv. She meets his eyes and offers him the smallest of smiles, but it's clear she's trying to maintain a determined face until she's won what she wants. He looks away from her again, not wanting to be a distraction in the war that's silently waging across the table. She's wearing a lion's face, fierce and strong against staggering opposition.

And he loves her for it, regardless of the ultimate outcome.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be _Friday, February 3rd_. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_


	12. Chapter 11

When he sees her the next morning, he knows the outcome of the war. More than that, though, Jon feels as though she finally looks _right_.

Her hair has been hacked short, no longer than her chin, but it's still thick and it falls on either side of her face like a curtain. It goes well with the intensity that's settled in her eyes that glitter like two chips of peridot. There's a smudge of soot on her cheek that tells him she's been tending a fire where ever she's taken to bedding down. The girl seems utterly impervious to the looks being flung in her direction.

She notices him then and, finally, gives him a smile. With the battle won, she can finally be properly pleased to see him, and it's apparent she is. He wants desperately to sit with her and spend breakfast catching up, but instead he holds up the tray as an explanation and vanishes out the door of the mess hall to take the food to the Lord Commander.

"Put it on the desk, Snow."

He does as commanded and works at the other tasks that he's required to see to each morning.

"I don't know what's between the two of you, Snow, but you're still expected to hold to your vows or face the punishment." This time, Jon looks up at the words and meets the gaze being leveled at him. Under the scrutiny of the look, he can't help but flush a bit.

"It isn't like that. She's like a sister to me, Ser. And I promise, she won't be the willing cause of any broken vows. That girl might not be from the North, but she's as hard as any Northman I've ever known… And I'm sure some of the brother's could benefit from her instruction at swords."

The man grunts in acknowledgement and excuses him, and he makes his way back to the hall to take his own meal. She's mopping up bacon grease with a heel of bread when he takes a seat across from her, and he receives a welcome smile for his effort.

"Good morning," she greets. He doesn't realize he's been missing her so much until this moment, and instead of returning the phrase, he simply lets out a laugh shakes his head. It's like nothing has changed at all for her; like they're still in Winterfell and at any moment, his siblings will join them. Instead, it's Pyp and Grenn and an oh-so-shy Sam that settle themselves around the pair.

Pyp tries to be charming as he introduces himself, his singer's charm coming back in an instant when faced by a female, but Iv levels the boy's attitude with one sweeping, disdainful glance. Jon almost feels sorry for his friend, having his hopes crushed underfoot so soon, but it's for the best.

Grenn is Grenn and immediately begins to question the girl about anything and everything he can, only to flush in frustration as Pyp has a go at him. Iv laughs at the interaction and Jon finds himself smiling, but too soon, he turns his head to find Sam.

The boy sits down the bench from them, on the very fringe of the group, without interacting. His face is red and he's shut up tighter than a clam. Jon remembers a conversation he once had with the Tarly boy, who confessed a preference for redheads, and he feels a stab of pity for his friend. Before he can try and cajole the young man over, though, Iv turns her attention to the last member of the group to speak with her.

"You haven't told me your name," she says gently, her attention focused on the large boy, who balks and mouths like a fish out of water before finally squeaking out a reply.

"S-Samwell Tarly…" he manages, and Snow smiles. Iv smiles as well, not unaware of the discomfort he's suffering.

"You may all call me Iv. Just Iv. Now, please excuse me."

As she gets up and retreats, obviously off to the mandatory practice all recruits must endure, his friends break out into rapid discussion that he has a hard time keeping up with. All but Sam, who remains flustered and uncertain.

"Look, she doesn't want to be treated any differently than any of us. Don't do anything stupid, because I promise, she'll make you regret it, but look out for her… She's… She's our brother now, and we're going to protect her," Jon says over their babble, giving a grin at the uncertain expressions on Pyp and Grenn's faces at his wording. He used the same phrase to tell them to not tease Sam once.

"I'm serious. Don't treat her any differently than anyone else. She won't thank you for being gentle with her, and neither will the Lord Commander. If she doesn't prove her salt, he'll send her back to Winterfell."

When the other two leave for their daily tasks, Jon looks at Sam. "Sam, you have to lighten up. She isn't going anywhere, and you can't clam up like this for the rest of your life. You're going to have to learn to relax around Iv. It will affect your job."

For his efforts, he gets a sheepish look and a string of mumbles before anything coherent finally manages to make its way out of Sam's mouth.

"I know. I just… I didn't think I'd ever be seeing girls again, and now there's one here. You know how I am," he whines, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Jon almost wants to laugh, but he knows his friend's distress is real, so he holds back.

"Just talk to her, Sam. She isn't scary or cruel. She just like us except she's… a girl." There really isn't any other way to explain it better than that.

Iv is Iv. She's strong and quick with a blade, she's polite and she can be a proper lady as easily as she can be a friend you talk to plainly. The Braavosi girl is a link to memories of Winterfell.

As he makes his way from the mess hall, off to complete his tasks for the day, he takes a moment to watch her in the yard. Yoren is still in the capital, so this batch of recruits is smaller than the last that Jon himself worked with, but there are still a fair few down there crossing swords. Rapers, thieves, and poor lads looking for feed. And then, there's Iv.

Just as she promised, the Bravo is determined to prove she's worth just as much as the other recruits. So far, she's doing well to make her point. The boy she's facing is clearly unnerved by the fact he's crossing blades with a female. Jon remembers just how much the sideways stance threw him off the first time he watched her at work.

The lad in the yard is trying to go easy on her, and he's paying the price for it.

His sword goes flying and he gives a shout of shock and pain, shaking his hand free of the sting. Frustration is plain on his face, but she begins speaking to him and, gradually, his face relaxes into a more accepting expression. Though he can't hear the words being spoken, when the boy retrieves his sword and moves to attack again, it's clear that, this time, she's instructing him.

Jon wonders if, eventually, the Wall will be manned entirely by Bravos trained by Iv, The thought causes him to let out a short burst of laughter, and when he looks across the way, his eyes meet with those of the Lord Commander.

The Old Bear smiles as well.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be _Monday, February 6th_. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_


	13. Chapter 12

She's on the Wall when he drags himself up top, standing near the brazier, huddled in her furs. All of the layers make her look strangely bulky and out of proportion, but even so, he still can't help but think that this is the right look for her. She finally looks the part of the warrior he knows she is.

"Tired, are you?" she asks as he comes to stand beside her. He looks over at her, but she's staring out at the world beyond the Wall, and he turns his attention back to that white-washed wilderness as well. He can feel the emotions rolling off her in waves, and he knows she's upset with him.

"I… didn't think, Iv. I didn't think that I was abandoning you, I didn't think about the fact they would hunt me down as a deserter. He is my brother and he goes to war to free my father and sisters, and I should be with him."

He still feels resentment toward Sam and Pyp and Grenn for bringing him back, but he knows in his heart of hearts that they were right to do so.

"You don't think I would be with Robb and Theon if I could?" she asks quietly, and he looks at her again. Her face is still pointed out, but her eyes are unfocused and he knows her mind is elsewhere.

"I received more kindness and was regarded more fondly in Winterfell than I ever was in Braavos. Sansa was as kind a friend as I ever hoped for, and Lord Stark showed me much kindness by taking me into his home. I would have gladly ridden south to offer my sword to free your father and sisters, but I came here to be at your side because you are the only Stark that's alone right now."

"I'm not a Stark," comes his automatic response, but she turns her head to pierce him with those green, green eyes. He freezes under her gaze; she's wearing her 'lion face' again.

"You are not a Stark in name, but you're a Stark in blood, and that's all that matters to me. There are no 'highborn' or 'lords' or any of that where I come from. It doesn't matter if you're a 'bastard' or not. What matters is what you make of yourself."

Her attention shifts away from him as she leaves him in silence to digest her words. She stifles a yawn behind her hands; she's been on the Wall on watch duty for several hours now and all she wants is to go down, get some food and sleep. But there is still another hour at least before someone comes up to relieve her of the chore, so she remains bundled in her cloak and furs, watching the snowy reaches far below.

There's a very pregnant pause between them then, and Jon rolls his next statement around on his tongue for a while before, finally, he gives voice to the things he needs to say.

"The Lord Commander plans to ride out beyond the Wall soon. There are disturbing reports coming in, and he wants to find Benjen, alive or dead." It feels strange to repeat this out loud, like telling her makes it real.

"I know."

"How do you know?" he asks, and she readjusts her cloak.

"I can see them in the yard, running around and preparing horses and supplies just as easily as anyone else can. I might not have known exactly what was going on, but I knew _something_ was going on…"

She saves him the trouble of going on when she takes a deep breath and releases it in a sigh before pressing on.

"You'll be going with them, yes?"

His voice has fled, leaving him to make nothing but a dull choking sound, which draws her attention. A nod is given as an answer in place of actual words, and she appears to deflate a little beneath her heavy clothing.

"And I'll be staying. I'm a recruit, still, not a 'sworn brother'. I have to remain behind, complete my training… Just so."

He can hear the bitterness in her tone. Without having to ask, he understands. She's bitter because, despite her skill at swords, she'll remain behind to finish her training, and when everything is said and done, she'll be assigned to become a steward to Castle Black because they can't trust to send a woman out with two men beyond the Wall for weeks at a time; it might not be safe for her.

She's bitter because all her work to prove herself will be disregarded in the end because she's a woman. All that awaits her at the end of the path of hard training is a life of servitude and no action. He's no stranger to the way she feels, because he's still struggling with the knowledge himself.

But above all of it, he knows she's bitter because he's leaving. Just like in Winterfell, he's going somewhere she can't follow and it kills her to be left behind, feeling useless.

This time, it's Jon who closes the gap between them. He presses his shoulder to hers and takes her hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing in reassurance. She doesn't look up, and he doesn't look over at her, but he can tell that she's finally smiling.

"Be safe, Jon Snow. You'll be fine."

The view is different, the clothes are different. _They_ are different, but at the same time, they're so exactly the same that it hurts his chest. But the sentiment is the same and she replies the pressure against his fingers.

Because she loves him. She doesn't want him to make a woman of her, she doesn't want him to kiss her and promise to return to her arms. She doesn't want him to hold her or anything so foolish like the songs she hears Pyp singing softly to himself during his chores.

When she looks at him, he knows what she sees. As much as she sees him, she also sees Ivaerion; it's the same as when he looks at her. He sees Iv, but just as much he sees Robb and Sansa and Arya, Bran and Rickon as well. He needs her to play these rolls as much as she needs him to play his.

They never speak about it, but Jon knows. He knows because of the almost desperate way they grasp hands while standing in silence on the Wall. When he notices the snowflakes melting in her hair, it hurts his chest to remember that last day in Winterfell, so he reaches up and brushes the flakes away while gently pulling his hand from her grasp.

The fox-fur that lines her hood is thick around her face, and it amuses him to think that it's her mane. They share a brave look before he turns on his heel in silence and flees her staggering presence.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Next update will be _Wednesday, February 8th_. The story will update Monday, Wednesday and Friday!_

_Between this chapter and the next, we completely skip over A Clash of Kings, because Jon isn't at the Wall, and Iv is. When next we see Jon and Iv, we'll be about halfway through A Storm of Swords. Only two chapters left!_


	14. Chapter 13

Dawn is lighting the Wall in pinks and purples when Jon rides the gelding into the heart of Castle Black. Despite the blood soaking his leg, Jon tells Donal Noye as much as he can of his 'cloak-turning' before he allows the man to help him to the Maester's chamber. When they cut and clean and tend his wound, he screams at the pain.

He tells them of Ygritte and the free folk. He tells them of climbing the Wall. He tells them of Ghost, but when Maester Aemon presses the hot knife into his infected flesh, he screams and faints, unable to tell them more.

When he wakes for good, Pyp and Grenn are there, but he soon wishes he was asleep again. Winterfell is gone? Bran and Rickon dead? His head hurts as he tries to process the horrors that Theon Greyjoy had brought down on his family. 'It was your family, too,' he thinks, as if the Ironborn boy can hear his thoughts.

But what of the grey Direwolf at Queenscrown? It had known him… Did part of his brother live on in the wolf as part of Orell lived within the eagle that had savaged his face?

When he sleeps again, his head is full of wolves and eagles and Ygritte. Always Ygritte. She's naked and trying to take him, but the weirwood has his father's face, and he reminds himself that he's the blood of the First Men and Winterfell. He's a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, and he can't father a bastard on her.

'You know nothing, Jon Snow,' she says to him and her flesh melts away. The milk-of-the-poppy keeps him asleep while he heals.

He wakes fitfully to a cluster of voices. One is female, and full of anger. For one wild moment, he wonders how Ygritte has come to be within Castle Black. But no, this voice is lilting and, in anger, the accent is thicker than ever, to the point that she breaks out into a string of Braavosi, which must be her swearing.

Jon tries to call out to Iv, but his head is swimming and all he can do is listen.

"You should have _told_ me he came back! You should have woken me at once!" she's shouting, and Maester Aemon is trying his best to quiet the raging girl. Grenn and Pyp join their voices to the fray, but then a loud crack brings all conversation to a halt. It's the sound of flesh on flesh and the involuntary yelp of the Bravo.

He can't see what happened, but he knows she's been slapped for her insolence and attitude. When a voice breaks the frightening quiet, it's Donal Noye, and he wonders if that's who struck the girl.

"You're confined to quarters, Iv. You're not in charge here, and you've no authority to give commands. Don't think that just because you knew Jon before you both came to the Wall means you get to be privy to more information than anyone else."

The sharp sounds of angry footsteps pound in his head and then a door slams. Maester Aemon clears his throat.

"You ought not have hit the girl…" he suggests in his soft voice, and the large man sighs.

"Probably not."

Jon slips back into his sleep.

_Iv stands near him, watching him sleep when he awakes. She wears no expression on her face except the scrunching of her brows in the space above her nose. Her fox-trimmed hood is pulled around her face, and her eyes glitter in the light of the fire the burns low in the grate. He can see the glint of silver at her hip and knows she's wearing the thin sword that came across the sea with her._

"_You did a stupid thing, Jon," she chastises, and he wants to smile at her words, but it hurts too much and all he does is groan instead. Outside, he can hear… something. It takes a moment before he realizes it's the horn. _

_She turns her head toward the door, then looks back down at him._

"_I wanted you to be dead. Anything was better than you turning your cloak. I can't very well kill my brother, can I?"_

_He finally manages a weak, pained chuckle and tries to sit up. He props himself on his pillows and watches her. The fire plays tricks in her eyes and he swears he can see tears building there, threatening to spill over._

_But Iv doesn't cry, right? He's never seen the girl spill a single tear for anything or anyone. _

_Iv's hand rests on the hilt of her sword like it's there for the sole purpose of making her look impressive. Beneath the cloak, she's wearing black breeches and boots that fasten to the knee, and a wide swatch of black cloth wrapped tight around her chest. Her figure wavers strangely before his eyes as she turns her body enough to look at the door._

_Outside, the shouts of battle begin to sound, followed by the crash of swords and spears and bodies. The loud pounding of footsteps and the din of war sound so close that he flinches away with each beat. Iv never moves, standing between him and the way in._

_When the door flies open, the warmth of fire precedes Ygritte into the room. She looks warm and inviting and his heart aches with the sight of her. Her eyes find his and despite his broken vows and the torment of remaining honorable, all he can feel is love for this wildling girl. He opens his mouth to call out to her, but Iv's form wavers again and it draws his attention._

_The Lion of Braavos stands at his side, all rippling muscle and auburn fur and eyes that burn like acid in the dying light. Her claws shine the color of steel and she's every inch the wild animal he feared her to be that first day in Winterfell. How he ever could have thought her a princess is a mystery as he flinches away from this giant, fearsome predator. _

_Ygritte screams a fierce battle cry as the cat flings herself across the space between them, bringing her spear to the front to defend herself._

_The cat screams as the spear plunges into her breast, but her jaws find a hold of the wildling woman all the same._

The spray of blood is so warm and vivid that is startles Jon awake.

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Friday will be the final chapter, and the epilogue will follow on Saturday!_


	15. Chapter 14

He sees Iv from afar when they wake to the smoke of Mole's Town burning. Donal Noye sends him atop a tower with a longbow, and he shares the space with Deaf Dick Follard and a green boy called Satin.

Iv is helping some of the moles up the steps along with Pyp and Grenn. She might not have been allowed to be a ranger, but with only 40 or so cripples, old men and green boys left to defend Castle Black, Donal Noye is more than happy to let the Braavosi lend her fearsome blade-skill to the impending battle. Her hair has grown to her shoulders since he rode out, and she wears it back in the severe tail she seems to favor.

He can see the ugly bruise on her cheek when she turns just right, but she defers to the orders being shouted at her as easily as any of the other crows on the Wall, and there are no hard feelings so far as he can tell.

When lunchtime comes, Owen the Oaf brings them buns and cheese and onions and Jon urges Satin to eat. There are pine nuts and raisins and bits of apple in the bread, and he tries hard not to think that this might be his last meal. Beside them, the straw brothers stand silent and impassive in their watch. He leans heavily on his crutch, wondering if perhaps someone has said vows over these sentinels.

The smoke dies out to the south and Jon knows that Mole Town has finished burning. Everything is clear and blue again, and he gives silent thanks to the Old Gods that there are no clouds. Rain or snow might finish them all. Instead, the Wall weeps in the afternoon sun.

When he looks over at the barricade, he sees Iv, standing calm as still water as she watches the yard expectantly. He wonders if what the free folk say about red hair holds true to people other than wildlings; he wonders if Iv is just as lucky as Ygritte because they're both kissed by fire.

He wishes he could find a way over to share a few words with the Bravo, but there is no way he can leave his post now. Words will have to wait until the battle is over, but he isn't worried for her. She's as skilled a sword as they can hope to have on the Wall today, and she's absolutely fierce.

'Fear cuts deeper than swords.'

He remembers her words then, suddenly, spoken to him in passing at Winterfell. He doesn't remember when, but they help him remain calm.

Dinner arrives and he falls on it eagerly with Deaf Dick and Satin. They use all of the bread to mop all of the mutton and broth from the pail, leaving nothing. After, Jon limps his way to shut the heavy door and visit the privy before returning topside to wait. They'll come tonight, he knows.

And come they do. The sound of the horns scares the piss out of Satin, but Jon pretends he doesn't notice as he tells the boy to shake their deaf companion awake. And they take up their bows and wait. It's too dark for Jon to find Iv, but he imagines her looking fierce and brave against the coming battle.

He imagines the huge lion, the color of her hair, standing and waiting to tear apart those that threaten Castle Black.

He imagines the three-legged white cat, scarred but still fierce, slinking around Winterfell.

He imagines and he smiles for just a moment before letting a grey feathered arrow fly.

They lose Dick. They lose the barricade. It doesn't matter that Longclaw has tasted blood and they've saved themselves with the hot oil. It doesn't matter how many arrows they loose, because they're losing the stairs. Jon looks at Satin and tells the boy to bring the fire arrows and the torches. He does.

They set the steps ablaze while Donal Noye does the same from the top of the Wall. The Thenn's that climb up die, the ones that climb down die, the ones that jump die and the ones who do nothing at all die. Styr dies and Jon feels a leap of triumph in his heart. With 40 old men, cripples and green boys, they've thrown back this wave, and for now, it's enough.

Satin helps him to the yard with a torch and he searches for her. He finds her in a patch of snow beneath the Lord Commander's burned tower. There're an arrow buried in the space between her breasts, and when she speaks, he knows she's lost a lung to the projectile. The arrow is fletched in white duck feathers, but it doesn't matter that it isn't his.

"Jon Snow." Her voice is a faint murmur. "Is this a proper castle now? Not just a tower?"

"It is," he assures, taking her hand.

"Good. I wanted to see a proper castle before… Before I…" He can hear the air that wheezes out of her damaged lung better than he can hear her words.

"You'll see a hundred castles. The battle's done. Maester Aemon will see to you." He touches her hair, trying to reassure himself as much as her. "You're kissed by fire, remember? Lucky. It will take more than an arrow to kill you. Aemon will draw it out and patch you up, and we'll get you some milk of the poppy for the pain."

Ygritte smiles at him and he isn't sure if she's heard him at all. "D'you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so."

"We'll go back to that cave; you're not going to die, Ygritte. You're not." He can hear the desperation in his voice, the begging.

"Oh," Ygritte cups his cheek with her hand. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighs, dying.

It is a long moment before Satin can rouse him from the dead girl's body. He wants nothing more than to curl up beside her and sleep in the snow. The cold will soothe his sore leg and perhaps his warmth will bring her back around. But all the same, he uses the crutch and the boy who was once a whore to stagger back to his feet and limp his way to the lift.

Slowly, the survivors are making their way into the yard. Some are limping, some are shaken, but unharmed. Some are being carried by others.

She looks so peaceful when Grenn carries her down that he wonders if she's just fallen asleep after the trying events of the evening.

But her blood is staining the snow and when she opens her eyes to behold him, there is a dull flicker of several things; pain, pride and relief are the only ones that Jon can register. He follows along as Grenn carries the Bravo to where the Maester is receiving the wounded.

When her cloak is moved away, Clydas hisses at the sight of the wound, and Jon feels faint. It yawns from hip to breast, showing everyone gathered close at hand exactly what Braavosi are made of. It occurs to Jon that it can only be sheer willpower keeping the girl alive at this point.

The Maester busies himself, his spotted hands traveling over the gaping wound, but when those ancient digits falter, Jon doesn't need Clydas' whisper at his ear to know his friend is dying.

Kissed by fire isn't lucky. It's a curse.

With more effort than it's ever taken in his life, he kneels beside this dying girl as well. Ygritte and now Iv. The Old Gods must be as cruel as it's often said.

Still, there's a macabre sort of humor in her eyes when her gaze finds him. She's having trouble focusing on him, he can tell, but a smile pulls at her lips. Her teeth are stained red with blood and when she speaks, it's a low his of Braavosi, which he shakes his head at. She seems to understand and tries again.

"They are being fierce sons-of-whores, yes?" she tries to laugh, but for her efforts, a fresh wave of gore spills into the snow at the contraction of muscles. He tries to shush her.

"Be strong, Jon Snow. You'll be fine."

There's a burn in the back of his throat and he fixes her with an almost angry look. Her fingers are shaking as he takes her hand, tangling their fingers together. When he squeezes, she doesn't have the strength to reply the pressure. He can't lie beside her, but he leans in, pressing his forehead tightly against hers, his grey eyes on her green ones and he can see the fire dying inside.

"I love you, you know." He doesn't try to tell her she isn't dying. He doesn't beg her to come back. This time, she's going somewhere he can't follow and he wonders if it's payback.

"Just so."

No further words leave her and he can feel her last breath warm his chin and lower lip for the briefest moment. He can't bring himself to open his eyes as he pulls away until he knows her eyes are closed, so his free hand lifts and he drags his fingertips over her lids before he looks at her.

She's just as pale as any Northerner now, and without her eyes open to show the truth, she could easily be a Stark. He remembers the skins of shadowcats that stretched across the beds in Winterfell, warming the Starks. The memory of her is a shadowcat that stretches across _him_, keeping him warm as her body cools in the snow.

When the sun rises the next morning, most of the wounded have been tended and the dead have been moved off to the side to be burned. All but the Lion of Braavos. She's wrapped in her cloak, her fox-fur hood ringing her frost-crusted face; Jon won't let them give her to the flames.

More than anything, he wishes he could give her a crypt in Winterfell, but truly, he knows that isn't her place any more than the Wall is. Until the fighting is over, she's moved to one of the cells cut into the ice of the Wall. It will keep her from rotting until he can see to it she's taken where she belongs.

'_But he died of fever, and we buried him at sea. I have nightmares where his hand is reaching up to pull me into the ocean with him.'_

* * *

><p><em><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Sorry for the late upload today! The login server must have been down because I was unable to get in here until just a few minutes ago! Stay tuned for the epilogue tomorrow!__


	16. Epilogue

The Lord Commander receives the raven from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Ivonia Vaquar has reached her finally resting place in iron-grey waves of the Narrow Sea, and the men he sent with the body will begin the return trip on the morrow. The raven on his shoulder screams for corn and, numbly, Jon shrugs him away and scatters a handful of the seed on the desk for the bird.

It's still early enough to make the trip, he decides, and with Ghost at his side, he strides from his chambers and out into the blistering cold. Stannis has guards all around, but the King and his men don't concern the 998th Lord Commander today.

He barks sharp orders and his horse is brought to him, saddled and ready. He leaves instructions of where he's going, when he'll return and what's to be accomplished while he's away. The gate is opened and as he rides out, watching the Direwolf race through the snow, he wonders if this is what it would be like if he'd been a ranger.

A mile north of the Wall, he finds the grove of weirwoods where he spoke his vows. They look at him with weeping red eyes and regard him in silence as he slips from his mount and ties the garron to keep her from wandering away. Ghost is off, searching for game or a good tree to mark as his own… Something.

It doesn't matter.

Jon kneels before the trees, but he can't bring himself to pray. All he wants is the solitude of the Old Gods to think for a while. These were not Iv's gods. Never once had he seen the girl so much as bend a knee in silent prayer.

'Some Braavosi regard death as their God. They have a temple in Braavos where you can go and pray to Death, asking for his gift for yourself or another. This is where the Faceless men come from.'

He remembers this brief lesson from Maester Luwin from years ago, and it makes sense to him. Iv was exactly the type of person who would bend to Death and Death alone. But she'd already received his 'gift', so there were no words the bastard of Winterfell could offer on her behalf.

A sudden, gnawing feeling makes itself known in the back of his skull and, very slowly, Jon looks up from his quiet contemplation of his hands. There, hidden in the shadows of the weirwoods, stands a shadowcat. But the feline blends, not with the shadows where she stands, but with the nine great trees circled around. Her pelt is the color of bone and her eyes…

The red eyes peering at him through the gloom are more than eerie… Despite the inherent danger, they take him out of himself and back through the last several months, and the memories bring tears to his eyes for the first time. He expected to make it through this ordeal without crying.

She told him to be strong, after all.

But the albino cat standing just on the edge of the trees reminds him so strongly of the Braavosi that, for a moment, all he wants to do is kneel and beckon the creature closer. His lips part, the frozen air drying his tongue so quickly that he has to swallow and rewet the muscle before he can speak, but it's for the best; the cat is a predator, not his friend, and when he finally does move his lips again, it's to whistle for Ghost. The feline vanishes, running from the scent of the Direwolf, and Jon blinks rapidly before looking around at all the white trees with their blood-colored leaves.

"Her eyes weren't red, anyway… They were green."

When Ghost returns to him, hackles up, he calls out to his canine companion. "To me. Leave the cat be," he mutters and stands, returning to the nervous garron. Untying her reins from the limb of the tree where he left her, he mounts the horse and turns her back toward the Wall, pushing the beast to a run.

Between the trees, he sees a flash of white fur and long, lean muscle. But Ghost's bushy tail bobs before him and this creature is sleek where the wolf is shaggy.

She runs silently beside him until he breaks free of the trees, having reached the space between the forest and the Wall. Far above him, the call of the horn echoes to signal his return to Castle Black. There, on the edge of the forest, the cat regards him with eyes the color of blood, and she lets out a single, loud scream before disappearing back into the trees.

Jon Snow smiles.

"Goodbye, Lion of Braavos."

* * *

><p><em><span>Author's Note:<span> Thank you so much to all of the readers who've stuck it out until the end! I hope you enjoyed this little experiment of mine, which took on a life of its own. It's likely you'll see more of Iv in the future, though, of course, it will be things prior to The Lion of Braavos, which has ended her tale._

_And for those wondering, there IS more WoW fiction in the works! I've been hashing out the entire story layout for the tail of 'Peridot', whom is featured in my PWP one-shot Warm. When I'll actually find the time to put it into writing, I'm not sure, but it is coming, and it will be a monster when it does! (Three entire character 'books', but I don't want to spoil too much here!)_

_As always, your support of my writing is very much appreciated! Thank you.  
>~FawksiePuppet <em>


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